Adorning the wall of the training room at my first PGCE placement was an unusual line graph. I studied it every day for two months. Some soul had carefully – and rather bizarrely – hand embroidered the journey of a first year teacher. As I tracked my progress towards December, I marvelled at its accuracy. A huge leap showing the euphoria of September; despair represented by a downwards curve in November after Year 10 refused to get excited about Susan Hill. But something was wrong. Why on earth had the nameless crafter included that rock bottom slump in late spring? As if! We'd be high flying pedagogues by then, wowing our tutors with our enthusiastically and perfectly crafted lesson plans, endless classes falling in love with us wherever we trod.

I remembered the chart in the spring as I wailed hopelessly into my mentor's lap, hiccupping violently and wiping my face with a uselessly sodden tissue. What had happened? Nothing. I'd delivered a reasonable lesson for the stage I was at and had some very measured and helpful advice. Obviously I wouldn't be doing everything right yet, with only a few months of experience, and I agreed with everything my mentor and the class teacher were saying. That didn't stop the tears though. "You're a terrible teacher," screamed my brain.

I have a theory that this insecurity arises every spring, trainee or not. During my NQT year I put it down to the stresses of a new school and the upcoming assessments. Last year I figured it was because I had my first exam class and there was so much to do.

This year, after falling into a unfathomable black mood during half-term and then seeing the first years in the department – amazing, talented colleagues who seemed to have been taking everything in their stride – fall prey to the self-doubt that I recognised all too well, I decided this was a pattern.

September is exciting and fresh. November is horrible – but there's Christmas at the end. January comes with resolutions and the promise of spring. And by the time you get to the summer term, you're on the home run, it's finally getting warm again and students and teachers alike are in good cheer.

But this time of year is weird. Year 7 have finally settled in and they've become cocky. People seem to be talking about job hunting, and that's really scary. It's nowhere near the end of the year, yet you're already worrying about the next one. And if you're worrying about the next one, shouldn't you have a firm handle on this one?

It is right in the middle of the year. You're in the belly of the beast. You know intellectually that you love your job and that you're good at it, but inside the belly it's really rather dark and illogical. You start asking yourself, "Why can't I get Year 8 to sit still?" "Shouldn't Year 9 be able to tell the difference between homophones now?" "What will happen if Year 11's results are terrible? I'll have ruined their lives!" "Am I a bad teacher?"

Your lovely reflective brain, your greatest asset at other times, becomes the enemy. All it takes is one bad moment and the whole world feels like it's crashing down around your ears. Tiny things like having to lend a student a pen again bring out your inner dragon. The sudden realisation that you have no idea what "prepositional clause" means makes you want to crawl into your cupboard and stay there for several days. And then you're sobbing into the nearest lap.

I'd love to know if other people think this exists. Does it get any better with years of experience?

And more importantly, how can we support teachers who are having a tough time? What do you do as a mentor? As a line manager? As a friend? I don't mean to trivialise – for some people, the stresses of work cause very real and very large problems and that requires a different level of intervention.

However, we should also take the passing stresses of our job seriously. We must be honest about feeling overwhelmed at work but how do we successfully coach each other, and ourselves, through our difficulties?

For me it was kind words, plenty of tissues, an ice cream in the park and the judicious use of my lesson observation forms to prove that I was actually doing OK. Teaching didn't necessarily become easier after that, but my coping mechanisms improved. And I remember that chart on the wall every year. It brings me a certain peace, even when in crisis. Thank you, mystery stitcher!

• This is the first of a series of blogs written by The Secret Teacher. Look out for more soon!

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